Of Cotton and Black Silk
by Black Valley
Summary: [Prologue up] Strange things turn up in even stranger places, but what -were- those things doing with old men?


**Disclaimer:** Shadow Hearts is property of Sacnoth, published by Aruze and Midway. So the characters of SH I don't own. Except this one! *latches on Yuri's leg* Mine, mine, mine, mine~

Yuri: Leggo before I Seraphic Radiance your ass! *tries to shake Rue off*

*hearts* Yuuuuuuriiiiii~

**Of Cotton and Black Silk**  
Part 1/3: Fate

* * *

Roger Bacon, accidental immortal, was an inventor and a scholar. With his brilliant mind and curious ways, he came to invent and to discover Great Things, some of which recorded with his name in the annals of history, some left to be forgotten with the flow of time.

He was also an alchemist, a master in the arcane secrets of Making Neat Stuff From Boring Things. With the right tools and circumstances, he could turn ordinary hay into gold, plain water into curative elixirs.

He would have been very much sought after for his skills, which he was for the last few hundred years, but settling down and living in a remote part of Wales helped him keep his privacy. And so he was free to continue with his experiments, without the annoying intrusion of clientele he did not wish to entertain.

Again, Roger was an alchemist. A damn good one, he'd tell everyone and everything. If he pursued his skills in creating precious metals from horse feed or potions from water, he would have been at present a Very Rich Person. He, however, was not a greedy man in the normal sense of the word. No, he did not create anything like philosopher stones or fountains of youth. No indeed.

He was most fond of only two things, namely:

1) Tinkering with and improving machinery and such left behind by beings that exist beyond the stars, and  
2) Transforming folded colored paper into cloth.

You would think the latter was boring, but then that would be just you.

You see, the changed cloth was usually soft, comfy cotton, all of them in one special shape and hidden in the special place under his house. Yes, he made and collected those, with all the joy and enthusiasm of An Old Man Who Makes Stuff That Keeps Him Happy.

Those were his best works, he'd say with a grin on his mummified froggy-like face.

But this was not entirely true. They might have been fine pieces of cloth, but they were not Roger Bacon's greatest achievement. Oh no, sir.

His Greatest Creation, carefully transfigured from the blackest of congealed inks, was Perfection -- if Perfection was triangular in shape, smoothest satin in texture, and the darkest ebony in color, with only the lightest hint of sheen disproving its likeness to a tear in the fabric of space. It was a special piece of black silk, it was.

Roger always said that he would die the day it left his possession. Or he saw a human female wear it, whichever came first.

But Fate had other plans when She had a skylark pluck it out of Roger's gnarled hands while he was busy rubbing it against his wrinkled face one day. Right then and there Roger swore again, this time to get it back, although he had already sworn to die. Perhaps the fact that he was afraid of dying had something to do with the change of heart, but what would a mere narrator know?

Anyhow, let it not be said that Roger Bacon was a lazy man. He had looked for a whole hour around his house and the ruins further up the cliff before he shrugged off the incident and decided to make another one. He had plenty of coagulated blobs of black ink, after all.

Meanwhile, the bird dropped Roger's Greatest Creation into a stream. It is a well known fact that streams are connected seas, and so Perfection continued to drift its merry way in the English Channel, the saltwater and sea folk doing no damage to it (as it was Perfect and all), into the river Thames, where Fate decided to meet Chance for a spot of tea.

Carl, from Old Castle Street, London, was fishing in the Thames. He had been by the bridge for Quite Some Time, and was just about to give up and go home, when Perfection floated by and snagged his hook. Reeling in his unusual catch, Carl grew increasingly misty-eyed as he continued to behold its silky flawlessness.

"These will look awfully nice on a cute little blonde, I wager."

And so it began.

* * *

**  
Chapter End Notes:** And we have our prologue. _Somebody_ *pointed look at Yuri* can't be satisfied with only one chapter, so I had to make this whole thing longer than it should have been.

Yuri: *smugly* If I can't have hot Alice action, then I might as well make you suffer.

I ever told you you're a bastard, dear muse?

Yuri: Eh, you might have, in passing. I don't really pay attention when your mouth starts moving.

...I give up. Just say what you're supposed to tell the readers. *makes shooing gestures*

Yuri: Okay. *clears his throat* Review and tell her *nods head at Rue's direction* you want me and Alice having bunny sex in the next chapter. She hasn't started on it yet, so maybe if y'all give her some ideas…

*throws a romance novel at Yuri's head*


End file.
